Death is only the begining
by Kitanao
Summary: Bond has just realized something about Q. Something that he thought never was imaginable. Now, he's faced with feelings he never thought possible, and challenges not even MI6 trained him for. Who knows where his path will take him. The only thing he is certain of, is that Q is his destination. And the only thing that matters any more. Bond/Q - John/Sherlock - Mycroft/Lestrade


"I know that arse…"

His voice was strained, despite the ease of the mission. Go in, seduce the bartender, find out some information, locate the target, seduce the target, bed the target, drug the target into giving all manners of information, then terminate the target and return to London. It was honestly one of the simplest missions he'd be asked to do. Being a double-oh, he was usually on missions that involved hand-to-hand combat, women who needed bedded, villains who liked to play tricks, and, in the end, death of at least a dozen people. It had become the life he had grown so accustomed to, so needing of, that without the missions he found his life boring and without purpose. He was a double-oh for a reason, and no matter what he thought or did, he would always be one. Even if he was to the point of needing to retire, he would remain with MI6 until his dying day. It was something he had vowed long ago, when M, the woman he had looked to like a mother, had first begun to respect him and trust him. And now, he stood, stark still in the middle of his mission, staring at a telly with no movement what so ever.

Nothing had ever made James Bond stop so suddenly without the will to move.

On the television was a young boy, with short, dark tousled hair, and bright green eyes. He laid next to another boy, blond, with light colored eyes. They shared a look, and suddenly the dark haired one was out of the bed and crossing the room. It was then that Bond had seen him, had stopped and stared at the screen. Because that arse was very recognizable to his keen blue eyes. He had stared at it for the past two years; had admired how it fit perfectly into the slacks that were chosen to cover it. How it had done unspeakable things in the bedroom. Yes, Bond knew that arse like he knew his lovely gun. He had never once mistaken it; not since he had admired it three years ago from afar. When he had first met him.

Q.

His Q, was on the television. He frowned, reaching and let his fingers gradually brush over the screen, tracing Q's face just as he leaned in to kiss the blond actor. Confusion entered his eyes, and as he watched the young Q leave the scene, he took a sip of his scotch. Throughout the remainder of the movie, Bond didn't move. He stared at the screen, waiting in anticipation for every second that Q appeared. He guessed that he had to of been around eighteen, possibly younger at the time of filming. There was no way that his Q, now almost twenty six, would have been doing that at the point of joining MI6. Q had been appointed Quartermaster three years ago, when he had met Bond in the art gallery. Before then, he had been part of MI6 training for said title for another four. Meaning that he had to of been nineteen or younger, but he didn't appear nineteen. Seventeen seemed to be a much better guess. And he wasn't sure what he thought about that. His love, on a screen, with another man? Well, it was true they didn't know each other at the time, but all in all, why hadn't Q stated this? Bond thought it over slowly, before finishing his glass. Q liked his secrets, liked his privacy. Just as much as any double-oh did. It was no wonder that he did not wish to openly tell Bond about the film. Though there was also a chance that he didn't wish to recall it, or thought it of no importance.

Just as he waved to get another glass from a waiter, his phone rang. Bond dug into his pocket, pulling the new cellular phone, curtousy of Q, out of his trousers. He stared down at the depiction code that, honestly, he had no issue reading. He was trained to do so. He pressed his thumb over the green button, slid to the right, and moved the phone up to his ear. His eyes flickered to the waitress who brought the drink, which he took gratefully, before letting his eyes lock once more on the screen, staring with a dark gaze in his blue eyes.

"Double-oh-seven."

"Yes, M?"

Mallory's voice was clear as crystal in his ear. Yes, Bond trusted him, respected him in a manor, but he still didn't give himself entirely to the new M. He missed the older woman who had treated him much like a son. And despite now getting along with Mallory, he was not the M that Bond had sworn undeniable loyalty to. He would serve his country, as England needed him. Serve his queen. But he swore no oath to Mallory himself. He did as the country needed, not as Mallory wanted. And if that meant going his own way as well, so be it. His eyes flickered to his glass, swirling the liquid for a moment, before looking back up.

"The tracking device indicates that you have not moved for over an hour." Mallory stated, his voice dark, yet cautious. "Are you compromised?"

Bond's lip twitched half way into a smile, before falling back to a stoic expression, "I am fine, M. Merely distracted by a few things. I assure you that nothing is wrong."

"Where is your homeland, Bond?"

The frown grew farther onto his features. Testing to ensure he was all right. He hated remembering though. "Skyfall."

"Good. We expect a report by midnight, double-oh-seven. Get on with the mission, and break from your distractions. You have a job to do."

The phone clicked off after that. Bond sighed, before pocketing the phone once more. He let his eyes linger back onto the screen, and didn't look away again. He would finish the mission, it would be easy. He already knew his target, and hadn't even had to do anything with the bartender. It was obvious who the target was. Bond wasn't sure why he had to play laps in order to get on with his mission; and in that, he decided to ignore those and go straight for the man in question. But right now, he wanted, nay, needed to know how this ended. Needed to see all of what his Q was doing. The scene at the piano stopped his heart for a moment, and he gasped. There was no way that was fake. The fingers danced upon the keys just as they did the keyboard at MI6. His entire body leaned into the movements and his eyes glazed over with that stare of compassion and wander Bond had found beautiful. He licked his lips, sipped his scotch, and stared at his lover moving.

Memo to self, get a piano in the flat.

Several times Bond's fingers itched to touch Q; to draw him away from that hallowed stare and into his arms. But that wasn't his Q any more… or period. This was an actor. But everything felt so real… Every movement and action felt as though Q was putting himself into it. The devastated look at being turned down by the old composer ( as disgusted as Bond felt at the prospect ), made his heart throb. Who could deny him? Q was… the loveliest creature in all of London. What point would there be to tell him no? To deny him every wish and dream he had? Shaking his head, Bond tore his gaze away to glance at his watch, before finishing his now fourth glass of scotch. He set the glass down on a nearby table. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tilted his head to the side and stared with unblinking eyes as the movie seemed to be coming to an end.

Confusion and anxiety filled him within seconds. Bond took a half step forward, his hands clenching over his chest, his eyes locked. He heard the gunfire, and his heart sank. When Q's body, lifeless and blood covered, was shown, he felt his breathing stop, his heart skip and pound harder in his chest. What was this? Why was he… A lump formed in his throat, and he shook his head. Q… Dead. Shot… Killed… Murdered in cold blood. His Q, no longer the cocky, intelligent man that Bond had grown to love. Love… Yes, he loved Q. He loved him more than any lover he had ever taken. And that include Vespa. Q was the best thing that had happened to him; despite his many years. Q was his life now, and the only reason he always came back home to London on time; the reason he ensured he never got too badly hurt on missions. And the prospect of Q dying… of him being murdered by someone who wanted to get back at Bond for one reason or another, was too much to handle. His eyes burned lightly, and he had to tear his gaze from the screen, or else risk breaking down. He shook his head, and left the party. The mission be damned. He had more important things to do now.

His fingers dialed without him looking, and he swept his finger across the screen to tell it to call. It was at his ear the next second.

"Double-oh-seven, what are you doing? You've left the perimeter of the party. Is everything-"

"Are you all right? Are you safe?" Bond interrupted Q's rant, but his heart beat a little slower, knowing he could talk, knowing he wasn't killed.

There was a hesitation on the other end, before Q finally spoke again in a softer tone, "I'm fine, double-oh-seven. I'm within MI6 headquarters. I've been monitoring you for-"

"But you're all right? You're not hurt? You're with other double-oh's? Which ones?" Bond once more interrupted.

"Yes. I… Double-oh-two and double-oh-nine are with me. What's wrong? James?"

"I'll be home within the hour."

Bond hung up the phone, pocketing it, before walking to the valet. He got his keys, and got into the car, before slamming his foot onto the pedal. He was on the road within a few minutes, and on his way to the airport. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, holding it so tight he felt his muscles strained. He boarded a private jet, owned by MI6, and was back in London within half an hour. He got into another car, drove to the headquarters, and ran do the floor where he knew Q would be.

Upon entering, he searched the room. Bond's eyes moved with training that took him years to achieve. He counted the people, recognized the faces, and took in all the information. All scientists, with two double-oh's, and then, in the center, at his computer with his back to Bond, was Q. He had a cup of earl grey in his hand, sipping it, and typing with one hand. Bond let his gaze flicker over the smaller man, taking in every bit of him. He wasn't hurt. He was perfectly fine. He was safe and well, and acting as normal. Striding forward with purposed steps, he reached and snagged Q's wrist. The action made the younger man drop his glass, where it shattered on the hard floor. He forced Q to turn, to face him, and stared down at him with crystal blue eyes. Q blinked up at him, frowned, and glanced down at the shattered glass at their feet. Bond took in the sight of him. The ruffled, messy curly brown hair. The bright, breathtaking green eyes. The freckles along his face, just a few. The way he held himself, showed his irritation at the tea being interrupted, the cup shattered. It was his favorite, and Bond would replace it. But for now, he needed to get Q home, where no one could disturb them.

"We're leaving. Week off."

"What?! Are you mad?" Q asked, irritated.

Bond didn't give him any more time to argue. He pulled Q, without releasing his grip, toward the parking garage. After ensuring he was safely within the passenger seat, he got in the drivers. He drove them home, in utter silence, refusing to answer Q's questions. And eventually, Q stopped asking. He parked the car under the flat building, before getting out and grabbing Q's hand as soon as he was able. He held onto it, tightly, the entire way up to the twenty-first floor, where he unlocked his flat door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him. He dropped the keys on the table by the door, before his arms found their way around Q, and he pulled him tight to his chest. One hand rested on his hip, holding him so tight he was certain that bruises would be left. The other rested in his hair, holding his head down onto his shoulder while his nose pressed lightly above his ear, breathing in the smell of Q. Of shampoo and all that made up his natural smell. Q didn't move for several moments, before his arms found their way up, and onto Bond's back. He clenched the fabric tightly, holding Bond to him just as tight as Bond did to him. Refusing to let go. Seconds ticked by, turning to minutes. And after six, Q spoke.

"James, what's going on? What is the meaning of all this? You're acting odd."

Bond didn't answer at first, before he swallowed the lump in his throat, and spoke in the softest of whispers. "You were dead…"

"Dead…? What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Q asked, concern entering his voice.

"On the telly… There was this movie on. Cloud Atlas. You died."

Q was silent for several minutes, before he spoke quietly, soothingly. "It was just a movie, James. I didn't actually die. It was acting; and, stage make up."

Bond pulled back slowly, holding Q at arms length so that he could stare down at him. "No, Q. You don't understand. When… When I saw that, you were dead. You. Q. You were dead. And do you know how many people I have out there that would do that? How many people would love to get their hands on you and… and…"

"Yes, I do. You don't know-"

"No, Q. You don't know. I've never been this scared before in my life. I've never thought of how much it would hurt to see you like that… to find you in any shape or form hurt. I'm terrified of the thought, and I just realized it. I'm terrified that I'm going to come home from a mission and you'll be dead on my floor… I-"

"Sherringford Holmes."

Bond blinked at him, staring with confused eyes.

"That's my real name James. So yes, I do understand. Being related to Mycroft and Sherlock, I know how dangerous my life can be. That was a movie, James, and it was a slap in the face of reality, yes. But I am fine, and I-"

"You're a Holmes…" Bond murmured, before pulling him back to his chest. He kissed his hair, "Yes, I understand that your life has probably been threatened before; but not by the men who want me. Not by the men who would wish nothing more than to hurt me by hurting you. Sherringford… Q, I love you. And I… I can't imagine you being hurt."

Q carefully detached himself from Bond. He let his hand curl within Bond's, before pulling him to the kitchen. He pressed him to lean against the counter, but an arm curled around his waist, pulling him tight to a strong chest. Q stared up at him for a moment, rolled his eyes, and pulled Bond with him. Bond refused to lose contact, keeping as close as he could to the small man. He found himself with a glass of scotch in one hand, and once more was being led. They found their way to the couch, where Bond sat, and pulled Q, without protest, to his lap. He held around the man with a tight grasp, and sipped the scotch, grateful for the burn along his throat. Q watched him with gentle eyes, before leaning and pressing a kiss to his temple, petting back the blond hair and letting his fingers play with the soft locks.

"Your brother gives me hell, you know." Bond murmured after some time, staring up at Q.

A half smirk shifted onto the small frame. "He gives most people hell. At least you won't have to deal with Sherlock… And now you know why it was so funny to name the rat Sherlock."

Bond let out a bark of a laugh, "What was his reaction to it?"

"He asked if the rat was smart enough to open his cage. When I said no, he sounded insulted. It was rather adorable, really. Sherlock is such an egotistic man, and wants nothing more than to have the best of the best." Q laughed, before shaking his head some. "But I do love my brothers, very much."

They sat silent for another several moments. Q settled into Bond's chest, resting his head on his shoulder, legs stretched out onto the remainder of the couch. Bond supported him with one arm, petting his side lightly, sipping his scotch every few moments. He relaxed as much as he could, but his body was still tense. Glancing down at him, he licked his lips, and then pressed a kiss to Q's temple, and stared down at him for a few moments, his fingers pausing, before continuing their petting.

"Marry me."

Q froze, before pulling his head back to stare at him. "What? Are you seriously asking-"

"I'm not asking," Bond stated. "I'm telling. Marry me."

"James, you can't be serious. What are you talking-"

"I've been waiting for eight months for you to inform me of your real name so that I could ask you properly. But, after my realization today, it wouldn't have mattered if you told me or not. Sherringford, Q, I love you. I have never felt this way about another human being before. I want nothing more than to have you for the rest of my days, until I die. I want to know that you are mine, and I am yours, and not even M can stop us from being together for the rest of our days. I want to ensure that we belong together and that everyone bloody well knows it."

"I don't understand what a signed piece of paper will change in that…"

"I don't either, to be honest… but I want it. I've never wanted anything this badly, Q."

"My brothers will not approve…"

"I don't care. I don't need their approval. I don't need anyone's approval."

Q was silent for several moments, before he shifted and tilted his head to the side, looking away from Bond. "I need time to think."

His heart fell for the second time that day. Bond blinked at him, glanced away, and stared off toward a window. He finished his scotch, before setting the glass down and tightened his grasp on Q's hip. The younger male glanced up, staring at him, before reaching and pressed a hand lightly against his jaw. He forced Bond to look down at him, forced him to lock those blue eyes on his own features. Bond did as was silently asked, staring at him. He stared with an almost distant look, and then shook his head slightly and lowered his gaze away from Q.

"I've disappointed you." Q stated, his voice sounding as distant as Bond's eyes.

Bond shook his head once more. "No. You have not. I knew you would need time to think. It's logical, and you are a man of thoughts and contemplation and not of action. Thinking… it's good for you, and something I would ask you to do, honestly. I just… For some reason, hoped that you would not need to."

Q stared at him, before he reached up, and pressed a hand to Bond's cheek. He leaned up and kissed him gently, before standing. Bond watched him, his hand reaching to grab Q's hand, hold tight to him. He stared at him with confused, scared eyes. Q leaned down, kissing him once more, before standing up straight. He explained that he wished to go to bed, and Bond was welcome to join him when he was ready. He pulled his hand away carefully, before moving into the bedroom and left Bond alone to his thoughts.


End file.
